


Sacrifice.

by hanaemi



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, Internal Monologue, Possible Spoilers, Post 1x10, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanaemi/pseuds/hanaemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 1x10</p><p>"[...] But everything seemed to be useless, since an increasingly strong premonition was oppressing his heart: Philippe loved drama, theatrical scenes were his assets, but this time… this time Louis could feel it was different."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice.

# Sacrifice.

 _**{ Fandom: Versailles** _  
_**Characters: Louis XIV**_  
_**Pairing: //  
Words: 1313 } **_

**“What does a king know of sacrifice?”**

By saying that Philippe left the palace in the morning, getting away from that _“haven of plotting, treachery, depravity, infidelity and immorality”_ , as he liked to call it. Those words didn’t stop troubling Louis, who had been trying to distract himself and not to think about his brother all afternoon long. But everything seemed to be useless, since an increasingly strong premonition was oppressing his heart: Philippe loved drama, theatrical scenes were his assets, but this time… this time Louis could feel it was different. In the past they had already had similar quarrels, usually noisier and with more screams, and even though Philippe was always the one to take the initiative and leave the court, in the end he always came back.

  
  
And Louis always counted on his return, in some way. After all Philippe had promised him he would have had his back, even though he had never made it clear.

  
That morning instead everything had happened in a cold and distant way: Philippe had come up with the excuse that he wanted to mourn his wife alone, almost as if he was accusing him of being too absorbed in his own mistresses to think about grieving for Henriette. After that he had left his brother and all the debts he owed him behind, first of all getting married again.

 

That guy could be extraordinarily stubborn when he buckled down to it, Louis knew that. All in all, both Bourbon brothers had a passionate and determined attitude when they had to make important decisions, though their passions were different. Therefore, if on the one hand his way of being was frustrating, on the other hand he could almost understand him, minimally…minimally, because he would have never admitted that yes, Philippe was right and he was wrong, not even to himself. After all he was the king of France, he had to maintain a certain demeanour.

 

Louis sighed, then he moved away from the window in his study and headed to his desk, where a white well unfolded vellum paper was waiting to be written. He sat down, dipped the quill pen into ink, after he gently pressed the tip of the pen on the paper, while starting thinking about how to start…and the most total blank wrapped him. How to explain himself, how to be able to reorganise that mess of scattered thoughts which filled up his mind and which was now pressing on the top of his head to come out? But most of all how to make Philippe understand he was trying to be sincere with him for once, that he wasn’t going to trick him, as he always believed?

He recalled one of their past conversations, which took place immediately after the time Philippe had beaten that nobleman up for making fun of him disguised as a woman.  
  
  
**“How can I have your back if you won’t tell me the truth?”**  
**“There are some things you cannot know. That only a king can know.”**  
  
  
Yeah. There were many things (it didn’t matter whether private or state) Louis hid from the court and that no one knew, except Bontemps alone, his only trusted friend and servant. But that happened not because of his will –or better, only in part because of his will– but especially because of many other reasons, reasons to which Philippe seemed to turn a deaf ear.  
And in fact his brother didn’t miss any opportunity to remind him how he _“never was good at sharing”,_ as if he  continuously wanted to underline that from his part Louis showed no sign of cooperation to let their relationship finally take the right direction.  
  
  
But anyway, they had been like this since their childhood, with Louis thinking about his own personal profit and Philippe always ending up listening to a dressing down, even when he had nothing to do with. It once happened with porridge, then the importance of the affairs had reached a whole new level, but their bond was basically based on that precarious equilibrium.

  
He moistened his lips, trying not to wander off but to focus his attention on the white sheet he had before him. He took a deep breath and finally, without even knowing how, his hand started moving  gracefully on the paper, while the Louis XIV’s clear and round handwriting gradually filled up the whole vellum paper, forcing him to turn page several times. He wrote until he felt his wrist hurt and his eyes burn because of tiredness, only then he put the quill pen down and relaxed his shoulders against the seatback, sighing of relief . It was as if he had finally got one thing off his chest, or at least he had got one of many things off. And that ‘one thing’ was concentrated in that five-page-long letter, where he had tried to sum up the best he could everything he had retained for a long, too long time. He placed both hands on the desk, next to the sides of those sheets methodically overlapping after being dried, and he slightly clutched the table wood , staring into space.

  
**“Sire, if you allow me, it’s almost dinner time.”**  
  
  
He was able to reawaken only with the voice of his trusted valet, which forced him to move his eyes to the figure standing on the threshold waiting for an answer. In order to focus on writing that letter he hadn’t attended to his afternoon tasks and he had locked himself in his office, only recommending Bontemps not to be annoyed by anyone for any reason. And he had focused to the point he had almost forgotten the time passing by, if it hadn’t been for the fact he had had to light some candles to keep on writing.  
  
Louis nodded and got to his feet, his open palms still resting on the desk.

  
**“Oui Bontemps, merci. I’ve finished here, we can go.”**  
  
Bontemps briefly bowed and moved to side to let Louis pass, then he immediately followed him through the corridors of the palace  
  
  
Hush.  
  
  
**“Bontemps.”** Louis suddenly said, rapidly glancing at his interlocutor.  
**“Yes, Your Majesty.”** Bontemps echoed, taking a step closer to the king’s figure in order to hear him better.

 **“In my study I left some sheets, five to be precise, on my desk. I want them to be burnt as soon as possible.”**  
**“But forgive me, sire, you have been working on them all afternoon long… you even ordered me to cancel any of your tasks in order not to lose focus and to keep composing those pages…”**  
**“I know Bontemps, and you have all the reasons to say so.”**  
  
  
He had, oh if he had. Louis had probably never focused so much on doing anything in his thirty years of life for that younger brother of his, that so-called ‘moon’ which dimmed in front of the shining sun of France. Yet he could already imagine Philippe’s reply, if he had cared for sending one: a meagre note that read _“You’re pathetic”_ or something like that. And no, Louis could definitely not have borne such an affront, least of all from him.  
Besides Philippe could have thought that letter had been sent after a well-reasoned calculation from Louis’s part, an attempt to take him back to court so that Louis could arrange another marriage. So maybe all the efforts in (finally?) trying to find a meeting point by means of that missive would have been vain.

  
**“But believe me.”**  
  
Louis stopped walking and turned around, looking Bontemps straight into his eyes.  
  
**“It is better that way.”**  
Bontemps bowed.

  
**“As you wish, Your Majesty.”**  
  
  
The words Philippe uttered that morning resounded in his ears once more.

  
  
_“What does a king know of sacrifice? Oh, brother, so much more than you know…”_

 


End file.
